


give us bread, give us salt, give us wine

by annella



Series: how rare and beautiful [4]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Angst, Chronic Illness, Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 22:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30045780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annella/pseuds/annella
Summary: Fifteen years on from the healing rain which heralded the end of the geostigma crisis, Rufus Shinra is finally ready to retire.
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Series: how rare and beautiful [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1989199
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	give us bread, give us salt, give us wine

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to Anna, Blue & Deanna for all the help with this story. 
> 
> Lyrics at start and end from Sleeping at Last.

_We will call this place our home_

_The dirt in which our roots may grow_

_Though the storms will push and pull_

_We will call this place our home_

_Let the years we’re here be kind, be kind_

_Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide_

_Settle our bones like wood over time, over time_

_Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine_

The house was small, poky, with narrow corridors and low ceilings, more cottage than house. “It’s cosy,” Tseng corrected, when Rufus made those observations. “Besides, how much space do we really need?”

Rufus glanced at him and then back at the lounge. “Considering the number of books you own, I’d say considerably more than this.”

Tseng chuckled, already imagining lining the walls with shelves. He thought of a not too distant future in which he was bent over a sawhorse, building bookcases out of oak beams, then shook his head. He was good with his hands, but not in that way. No doubt the nearby village would provide him with what he needed to store all the books he’d collected over the years. Many of them were locked away in a basement in Edge, and he was looking forward to finally having shelves to display them on and time to read them.

Rufus wandered over to the window, his cane tapping on the cracked wooden floors. He leaned over to peer out through the dusty glass at the land he was considering buying, at the wilted, overgrown vineyard which had been abandoned since before Meteorfall. The entire property had been listed as derelict for decades, an eyesore on the landscape, and the council of the local village had been desperate to sell it at any price as long as it was fixed up properly.

“Do you think we can bring it back to life?” Rufus asked. Tseng could tell he was already imagining the vines heavy with grapes again, walking amongst them under a burning hot summer sun, a dog at his side, a sunhat atop his head, and the scent of dry grass in the air.

He came up behind Rufus and wrapped his arms around him, allowing Rufus to rest his weight against his chest. “I do,” he replied. Rufus nodded, and it was settled.

The house needed significant repairs, and it was several months before they were able to move in. A team of contractors, which had cost Rufus a fortune, hammered and sawed and built, and whenever Tseng stopped by to see the progress, he was amazed at how the run-down cottage was transforming into a home. Ancient wooden floors were scrubbed and mended to reveal beautiful hardwood, polished until it shone. The half-collapsed roof was stripped away and rebuilt with red tile. Cobwebs and bird droppings were swept out of the ceiling cavity and a small loft constructed over the living area. The wine cellar, long fallen into dereliction, was restored. To Tseng’s delight, a litter of kittens was discovered hiding amongst the debris, and he spent a fair amount of time during his visits attempting to win the feral mother over with scraps of meat.

“We’ll need to hire staff,” Rufus commented when he visited near the end of the work. He still had a lot to do with the official handover of the WRO to Reeve, and he relied on Tseng’s reports on how the renovations were going. It should only be another week before everything was finished, and Tseng couldn’t wait to finally move in. The contractors had built bookshelves into some of the walls of the living area, the study, and the bedroom, and Tseng was already planning which books he would put where.

“Staff?”

Rufus scoffed. “I’m not spending my retirement picking grapes, Tseng. And if you want to climb barefoot into one of those vats to make wine, be my guest. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to hire a housekeeper to come out once a week to help out.”

“Hmm.” Tseng looked out across the vista. He had already hired a vintner to advise on how best to restore it, and the wilted vines, now trimmed back and securely tied to the fence posts, were starting to look a lot healthier. He’d been told not to expect a decent harvest for at least two years, but it was a start.

“Tseng,” Rufus suddenly said, his voice urgent, “there are _cats.”_ Tseng turned to see Rufus staring at the corner of the room, where Tseng had set up a small pile of blankets and some food bowls for the cats he’d finally managed to entice inside.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Tseng slowly approached the mother cat, who had frozen at the sight of Rufus. Her kittens were right behind her, and her hackles rose as Tseng took another step closer. “Okay, I won’t come nearer,” Tseng murmured, slowly moving back. He’d managed to pat her the last time he was here, just a slight touch to her head before she shied away from him, and it was significant progress.

“I thought we agreed we would get a dog,” Rufus pointed out. He still mourned Darkstar, dead many years ago of old age, and Tseng knew he’d been waiting for the right opportunity to have a dog again.

“We can have both. I’ve always wanted a cat.”

“It’s going to be a veritable menagerie,” Rufus sighed. “Come on, show me the rest of it.”

Tseng was quite pleased with the bedroom. It had been stripped bare, the walls painted a creamy white, and the dark wooden floors and beams overhead were polished to perfection. Tseng had carefully chosen several artworks for the walls: Midgar at night before Meteorfall, the beach at Costa del Sol, sunset over Junon, all according to Rufus’ specific tastes. The plush white rug Rufus had kept in his apartments in Midgar and then Junon for years was already there, cleaned and mended and the worn places restored.

“Lots of good memories of that rug.” Rufus gave Tseng a sly glance.

Tseng cleared his throat, a smile on his face as he remembered the first time they’d had sex on that rug: too drunk and horny to make it to the bed, they’d fallen down onto it after stripping each other’s clothes off, Rufus’ thighs already spread for Tseng to nestle between them. It wasn’t the last time, either; in Junon, the rug had been placed in front of the fireplace, and they’d spent many an evening indolently sprawled naked on it, warmed by the fireplace, bodies slick and intertwined as they celebrated their love in a time when they thought the world as it was would only ever change for the better.

How it had changed, indeed. Tseng glanced at Rufus, at the cane he relied on for his weakened leg, the knee badly damaged by Diamond Weapon and only made worse by geostigma. One of his eyes was a prosthetic, concealed somewhat by glasses. He’d never managed to gain back the muscle and fat that wilted off his body during the worst of his illness, and he looked frail, delicate. His bones were prominent, particularly in his shoulders—a far cry from the broad, muscular shoulders he’d had in his early twenties—and Tseng fretted. He wasn’t ill, as such—but he was not the hale and hearty man he used to be, and he seemed to fade a little more with each passing year.

This was common amongst those who had suffered geostigma, according to Rufus’ doctor. Although the illness had been purged from his body before it could claim his life, the aftereffects would linger for years to come. Rufus had been told to prepare for the eventuality that he would never fully regain his strength.

Tseng tried not to worry visibly—Rufus hated having a fuss made over him—but he was more relieved than he let on that Rufus had finally accepted that he should retire. It was over fifteen years since his recovery from the stigma, and Rufus grew more tired every day. Tseng had been shouldering as much of the burden placed upon him by the WRO as he could, but eventually, Rufus decided it was time to call it quits.

They’d celebrated that night, drunk on wine and thoughts of the future, and dug out an old materia which they hadn’t used for years. Concerned for Rufus’ stamina, Tseng hadn’t been game to use it beyond its most basic setting, but even that was enough to have them gasping and moaning into each other’s mouths as they fucked like they were twenty years younger and in the prime of their lives.

“Move it to the living room,” Rufus suggested.

“The living room?”

“In front of the fireplace.” Rufus glanced at Tseng, a sparkle in his eye. “I plan to let you fuck me on this rug again.”

Tseng chuckled, and added it to his list of things to do.

“What will you do?” Tseng asked later that afternoon, lounging on a couch at the inn in the local village as they shared a light meal and some wine in front of a roaring fire. They could have taken the helicopter back to Costa del Sol, where they’d lived the past five years in a small villa by the ocean, but Tseng wanted to show Rufus the village nearby. The inn was rustic, comfortable, and no one batted an eyelid at seeing two well-dressed men in their late forties sitting together on the couch in the common area, one with his feet curled up underneath him, his white-streaked blonde head resting on the other’s shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to catch up on my reading. Perhaps learn to cook.” They both chuckled; Tseng was notoriously bad in the kitchen, managing to burn even the easiest of meals, and Rufus wasn’t much better. They’d been relying on restaurants and in-house chefs for most of their lives together, but that was all about to change.

“Shiva help me and my stomach,” Rufus said, rolling his eyes, and Tseng cuffed him lightly on the shoulder.

“I can’t get worse, I imagine.”

Rufus grunted, and Tseng cuffed him again, earning himself a laugh as Rufus reached up to grab his hand. He didn’t let go, bringing it over his shoulder and down across his chest, sliding his fingers in between Tseng’s. Even his fingers—always long and delicate—were now thin, bony, and Tseng squeezed his hand gently. His skin was too pale, seeming almost translucent, and Tseng envisioned them sitting together under the hot summer sun, Rufus finally regaining some of the colour he used to have. For all their time in Costa del Sol, Rufus had not had the chance to spend much of it outside, caught up as he was in the work of the WRO.

“Not sure what I’ll do. I’ll need a hobby of some kind, I suppose. Gardening, maybe. Or perhaps I could take up the piano again.”

“Mmm. I was going to ask if you wanted the piano brought from the Junon apartment. There’s plenty of room in the study.”

“Let’s do that.” Rufus’ voice was drowsy, and Tseng glanced down at him, a fond smile on his face as he carefully took the wine glass from Rufus’ hand and put it on the coffee table in front of them as Rufus slowly drifted off to sleep.

Soon they would be settling into their new home, and perhaps Rufus would finally have a chance to heal.

“Damn, this is a nice place.” Reno whistled admiringly as he wandered through the fully-restored cottage. “You guys got a spare room for when me and Rude want to come visit?”

“There’s a loft above the lounge,” Tseng replied, amused. “And you’re welcome to visit anytime.”

Rufus scoffed. “No, you’re not.” He whacked Reno on the shins with his cane as Reno passed by the couch.

“Ow!” Reno yelped. “That’s real nice. I feel welcome.”

Rude smacked him lightly on the back of the head. “We have our own place,” he pointed out. “It’s nice.”

Reno sighed and flopped down on the couch opposite Tseng and Rufus. “Can’t believe you left Laney in charge.”

“I can,” Rude muttered.

“You never wanted to be in charge of anything,” Tseng observed. “I thought you’d be relieved. Besides, Reeve is still in charge of you all.”

“Where is Elena, anyway?” Rufus asked, one hand stretched along the back of the couch to idly play with Tseng’s hair. He leaned slightly into the touch, allowing Rufus to run his hand up the back of his head, fingers digging in to massage his scalp.

“Late meeting with Reeve,” Rude replied. “She’ll be along soon.”

“Are you staying for dinner?” Tseng asked.

“Not if you’re cooking,” Reno said.

“Ouch,” Rufus muttered, a wide smile on his face. Rude smacked Reno on the back of the head again.

“Be polite,” he chastened.

“I haven’t been polite in _decades,_ what makes you think I’ll start now?”

To head off another round of bickering between the two of them—who had, despite appearances, been happily married for the past ten years—Tseng interrupted. “I’ve ordered some food from the inn at the village. Someone should be here with it shortly.” He glanced at Rufus, smiling and tilting his head as Rufus continued to stroke his hair.

They’d only moved in a few days previously, and Rufus was already looking better. He was sleeping late, going to bed early, as if trying to catch up on decades of missed sleep. Tseng had got up several hours before him this morning, content to allow Rufus to sleep in while he fed the cats and poured himself a cup of coffee.

He’d stood at the window, watching the sun rise over the vineyard as he sipped his coffee, absently scratching the ears of the feral cat who’d decided that this was, in fact, a good place to raise her kittens. It was midwinter, and the vines were dormant; stark twisted tangles against the lightly frosted landscape. In the distance, he could see one of the workers they’d hired to look after the vineyard, pruning the branches to ready them for spring growth.

Eventually he set about making breakfast for himself, cracking eggs into a pan and making himself an omelette—no, scrambled eggs—before settling into the large wingback chair near the fireplace and picking up the book he’d started reading the night before. It felt luxurious, like he was being pampered, this ability to wrap himself up in a thick bathrobe, tuck his feet underneath him, and wile away several hours simply reading.

After a few hours, he heard the sounds of Rufus stirring down the hall, and went to make him a cup of coffee. He padded silently towards the bedroom, thick socks muffling his footsteps on the smooth wooden floor, and entered the room just as Rufus was sitting up and stretching. Two of the kittens had followed him in, and they leaped up onto the bed, curiously making their way across the rumpled covers towards Rufus.

“Mmm. Morning.” Rufus gazed at Tseng through blurry eyes and sleep-tousled hair and stretched out a hand to the kittens, allowing them to nuzzle him before they curled up together in a furry little puddle on Tseng's pillow.

Tseng carefully put the cup of coffee on the bedside table before perching on the edge of the mattress and sliding his hand up Rufus’ face. Rufus leaned into the touch, and Tseng shifted closer to give him a kiss.

“It’s strange,” Rufus said, pulling away briefly and settling back against the massive stack of pillows he’d piled around himself.

“Hmm?” Tseng shrugged off his bathrobe and slid under the covers next to Rufus, loving the feel of his warm body pressed against Tseng’s.

“Knowing that I don’t have to do anything today.” Rufus ran his hand up into Tseng’s hair, combing through the black and silver strands and gazing at him. “I could spend all day in bed, if I wanted.”

“You could. Or you could help me unpack my books. There’s still about a dozen more boxes.”

Rufus screwed his face up in a grimace, and Tseng laughed.

Tseng stared at himself in the mirror, his damp hair hanging loose around his face, a towel wrapped around his waist. Every day there seemed to be more white in his hair, the silvery streaks painfully visible amongst the black hair he had remaining. He’d considered dyeing it, giving in to the sort of vanity he’d had in his twenties, but the amount of upkeep it would have required made him shudder.

“I’m thinking of cutting it off,” he mused, meeting Rufus’ eyes in the mirror. He’d become lax with it over the past few years, barely even bothering to get it trimmed, and it was now long enough that the ends of it brushed his ass. Rufus adored it, always had, and he heard a shocked gasp from the other side of the bathroom.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Rufus glowered at him as he ran a towel through his own hair. The colour changes in Rufus’ hair weren’t as visible, the white strands blending into his already silvery blonde hair.

“Hmm.” Tseng continued staring at himself, running a hand over his jaw. He automatically reached for his shaving cream, then paused. “What are your thoughts on beards?”

Rufus shrugged. “Are you thinking of growing one? I admit, I’ve never seen you anything other than freshly shaven.”

“It doesn’t grow in well,” Tseng admitted. “It’s… patchy.” He picked up his shaving cream and stared at himself, at the faint shadow on his cheeks. Every day he’d carefully shaved, keeping his face smooth and professional, and after thirty years of the daily ritual, he smiled and put the cream down again.

“Looking forward to feeling your face get fuzzy,” Rufus said, coming up behind him and putting his arms around Tseng’s waist. He nuzzled his shoulder, his own rough cheek warm against Tseng’s shower-damp skin as he placed kisses up towards his neck.

Tseng glanced at Rufus in the mirror. “Did you want me to shave you?”

Rufus paused, a small smile forming on his face, and nodded.

During the worst of his illness, Tseng had needed to shave Rufus every other day. It had started out as a frustrating exercise for Rufus, another admission that his body was failing him as his hands shook too much to wield a razor, but it became a comforting daily ritual.

The first time, Rufus had been silent, sullen, glowering at Tseng as he put a towel over his shoulders and knelt in front of him. He hated the slow progression of his illness, hated how every week another thing he took for granted seemed to fall away from him. Tseng kissed him on the forehead, ignoring Rufus’ irritated grumble, and ran a finger down his fuzzy cheek.

He’d let himself go for a little over a week, after he sliced his jaw badly with the razor. Tseng had found him in the bathroom, wads of tissue clamped to his jaw, blood dripping down his hand, and jumped to the worst possible conclusion. Now that he was mostly healed up, Tseng had insisted on performing this service for him.

“I don’t mind.” Tseng was firm in his decision. “Unless you want to continue slicing your face to ribbons.”

Rufus glared at him. “You’re not my servant.”

“I know.” He picked up a heated damp towel and laid it over Rufus’ face, muffling his response. “Allow me to do this for you.”

It was terrifying, shaving someone else’s face. Tseng moved by tiny increments, scraping the straight razor over Rufus’ face, removing the shaving soap and fine blonde hair that had sprouted over the past few days.

The room was quiet, the only sound Rufus’ steady breathing and the rasp of the blade. Rufus’ shaving soap carried a delicate, masculine scent—cedar, mint, hints of pine—and Tseng inhaled it deeply as he leaned in close to work the tricky area around Rufus’ mouth.

“I can feel you breathing on me,” Rufus murmured, almost imperceptible as the words crept from his unmoving mouth.

“Sorry.” Tseng turned aside to rinse the blade.

“No. It’s … comforting.”

Tseng glanced at Rufus to see both blue eyes fixed on him. One of them was starting to dim slightly, the one he’d almost lost in the attack from Diamond Weapon, and Tseng felt a pang of fear in his gut that Rufus would lose it completely.

“Tseng,” Rufus said softly when he turned away again to hide the sudden upwelling of emotion. A hand crept into his own, and he looked back to see Rufus reaching out across the space between them, a rare softness in his eyes as he linked his fingers with Tseng’s, squeezing him slightly.

“SIt,” Tseng ordered, pointing to the chair in the corner of the bedroom. Rufus, a cocky grin on his face, sprawled in the low wooden chair with his legs spread, his towel loosely knotted around his waist, another towel across one shoulder. Tseng knelt in front of him and reached up to lightly stroke his cheek, leaning in just enough to brush his lips across Rufus’ before sitting back on his heels and picking up the shaving soap.

It was the same scent he’d always used, and it brought back memories every time Tseng smelled it.

The more difficult memories associated with the scent had almost entirely faded over the past fifteen years. The extra care he’d had to start taking with the blade as Rufus’ skin became thin and easily damaged. The time his hands had been shaking with fear after Rufus had a bad night and struggled to move in the morning and Tseng ended up nicking his cheek. Now he could smell the soap and think of his lover standing upright in front of the mirror, his back straight, his legs mostly hale, a slight smile on his face as Tseng watched him shave.

Rufus kept his gaze fixed on Tseng as he moved the shaving brush across his face, lathering him up. Tseng tried to ignore him, recognising that look in Rufus’ eye, and reached for the straight razor.

“Making new memories,” Rufus said softly, speaking Tseng’s thoughts aloud. Tseng gave him a half smile and lifted the blade, shifting so he was kneeling between Rufus’ thighs.

Outside, birds were chirping, the morning rains clearing up as the sun climbed over the horizon. They’d cracked the windows open that morning, letting in the fresh spring breeze, airing out the house after a winter spent inside. In the bedroom, there was silence but for the scrape of the blade and their shared breaths. Tseng was intimately aware of Rufus’ legs on either side of him, of the towel he was wearing which would come off with the slightest of tugs.

“You know,” Rufus mused, his hands resting lightly on his thighs, “I almost always got turned on when you shaved me. I really did look forward to those moments.”

“Huh.”

“I wanted to rip my pants open and jerk off every damn time.”

“Why didn’t you?” Tseng navigated down over Rufus’ jaw, desire pulsing low in his body.

Rufus let out a soft sigh of regret. “I should have.”

Tseng took a breath as he continued sliding the razor in a path over Rufus’ cheeks, ignoring the increasingly rapid breaths coming from his lover as he tilted his head back to allow Tseng to shave below the jawline. He could smell the minty toothpaste on Rufus’ breath, warm on his face, and he bit his lip as he worked his way steadily across from one side to the other, pausing every so often to wipe the blade clean.

“Tseng,” Rufus breathed, sliding his hands up Tseng’s arms after he’d finished below his nose and paused for a moment to check for spots he’d missed.

“Not yet,” Tseng replied, shifting his weight on his knees, feeling the rough cloth of the towel caressing his cock. He was on the way to becoming fully aroused, just from Rufus’ proximity, from the intimacy of having a blade to his lover’s throat.

The trust Rufus had for him, and only him.

“Hurry it up.” Rufus was squirming in his chair, trying to stay still, and Tseng glanced down to see that he was well and truly tenting the fabric of the towel. As he looked, Rufus reached down and pulled the sides of the towel away, exposing his cock.

“Oh, you _are_ having fun,” Tseng murmured, amused. “Hold still. I’m almost done.” He couldn’t resist running a finger of his free hand up Rufus’ cock, enjoying the moan that spilled from his lips as Tseng once again raised the blade to his face.

“Mmm. Tseng. That feels good.” Rufus’ words were breathed out from his half-open mouth, and Tseng could sense the movement of his hand in his peripheral vision. It shouldn’t surprise him that Rufus was stroking himself while Tseng held an incredibly sharp blade to his face, and he felt his own breathing quicken when he paused momentarily to glance down again.

Rufus’ hand was wrapped around his cock, languidly sliding up and down the hard length, the head swollen and slick as he touched himself. Tseng took a deep breath, his own cock twitching and swelling under his towel, and he leaned in to scrape the last of the shaving cream from Rufus’ face, his hand almost trembling as jolts of lust pulsed through him.

“Done!” He put the blade aside and picked up the damp towel he’d brought, gently sliding it over Rufus’ face to remove the last traces of shaving cream. Rufus’ eyes were closed and he moaned, letting go of his cock and reaching out for Tseng to pull him close. One tug was all it took to remove the towel from around his waist, and their mouths met in a frantic, desperate kiss.

“Tseng, please,” Rufus moaned through the kisses, his hand on the back of Tseng’s neck, the other hand trailing down his chest and wrapping around his cock. Tseng jerked, twitched, gasped into Rufus’ mouth.

“What do you want?” His voice came out in a growl as his hips thrust into Rufus’ too-loose grasp.

“Your mouth.” Rufus grabbed a handful of Tseng’s hair, dragging him away from the kiss and gently pushing him down. Tseng, a grin on his face, acquiesced willingly, his hands stroking firmly over Rufus’ thighs as he settled back on his heels, his face right over Rufus’ cock.

“Rufus?” He dragged just the tip of his tongue up the firm length before him, relishing the throaty moan that Rufus let out.

“Hn?”

Tseng glanced up to see Rufus with his lower lip caught between his teeth, a gorgeous flush spread across his normally pale cheeks. “You know what I want to hear.” He kissed the head of Rufus’ cock, his tongue darting out ever so slightly to collect the bead of precome at the tip.

“Gods, Tseng, can’t you just—” Rufus broke off, letting out a whimper as Tseng kissed him again, a little more firmly, his mouth open over the slit, caressing it again with his tongue.

“I can wait as long as I need to,” Tseng teased, although he was painfully hard himself, his breathing rapid, his heart beating frantically in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to sink into Rufus’ tight heat, but it had been too long since he’d had his lover at his mercy like this.

It had taken time, after the geostigma, for their lovemaking to recover from the years of illness and despair. Even before then, the injuries they had both suffered had rendered them incapable of anything too adventurous in bed. Tseng had had half his chest sliced open and been left with a scar which still itched and hurt some days despite years of therapy. Rufus’ leg, badly injured in the Weapon attack, had ongoing mobility issues, and for a long time he had frequently woken up in pain at night from the old injury.

They both had to accept that they were older, their bodies wearing out from years of relentless injury. It didn’t help that their libidos had not changed in the years they’d been together, from that first lust-filled tryst on a settee in Rufus’ penthouse apartment when they were both barely eighteen to now, almost thirty years later, when they were just as much in love with each other’s bodies as ever.

“Fuck! _Please!”_ Rufus moaned, his words strained and his hands tight in Tseng’s hair. “Please, I’m begging—”

Tseng moaned and opened his mouth wide, sliding it as far down over Rufus’ cock as he could. The sound Rufus let out was indescribable; desperate, frantic, longing, and Tseng let the noises wash over him as he caressed Rufus’ cock with his tongue, his lips, his fingers. His damp hair fell in tangles around his face, beads of sweat forming on his temples as the taste, the scent, the very presence of Rufus in the throes of passion threatened to overwhelm him.

The first time he’d sucked Rufus’ cock after he was cured from the geostigma—weeks later, it had been, Rufus still weak and unable to walk far without aid, Tseng still recovering from the torture he’d suffered at the hands of the Remnants—his lover had almost wept as he felt Tseng’s mouth on him again. Tears of joy, he’d hastened to explain, the joy of finding such intense pleasure once more after thinking he’d never feel it again.

“Let me fuck your mouth,” Rufus gasped, trailing a thumb across Tseng’s lips, stretched tight over his cock. His other hand was still holding onto his hair, tugging gently as he guided Tseng over him, pressing him down ever so slightly as his hips jerked.

Tseng peered up at Rufus through dark lashes, admiring the length of his body. Rufus was still too thin, his ribs protruding, but every day he seemed stronger, healthier, and Tseng admired his flushed face, his half-open mouth, his head thrown back as he gasped in pleasure.

He wanted, all of a sudden, to drag Rufus down onto his cock, to slide into him and fuck him until he was crying out Tseng’s name, and Tseng pulled away, ignoring Rufus’ whine of protest. He stood, his cock straining and hard in front of him, desperate for touch, and bent to pick Rufus up.

Despite his height he was too light, too bony, and Tseng tried not to think about how little he ate as he turned and dropped him on his back on the bed. Rufus shifted back, propped up on his elbows, his legs spread as Tseng quickly grabbed lube from the bedside drawer and knelt on the bed between his thighs.

“How do you want me?” Rufus asked, his gaze roving up and down Tseng’s body, from his hard cock to his flushed face.

“Just—like this.” Tseng grabbed one of the many pillows from the head of the bed and coaxed Rufus to lift his hips to let him slide it underneath him, propping him up. It was the work of mere minutes to slide his slick fingers into Rufus, readying him for Tseng’s cock as Rufus moaned and writhed on the bed before him. Rufus let out a low gasp as Tseng knelt between his legs and slid his cock home, his eyelids fluttering closed at the tight heat around him, so familiar and warm and still the most incredible sensation Tseng had ever experienced.

He took it slow, leaning over so they were face to face, Rufus’ legs hooked around his waist, and they shared kisses, deep and loving, as Tseng fucked Rufus’ pliant body.

Their sex life had definitely taken a turn for the better in the months since they moved into the cottage. Completely alone, isolated miles from their nearest neighbour, and finally beholden to no one, they rekindled their love regularly. Rufus had kept his promise and let Tseng fuck him on the white rug, the cats watching curiously from the corner of the room as they gasped out their passion in front of the fireplace.

“Harder!” Rufus growled, bucking his hips, trying to take Tseng in deeper. His mouth was half open, his face gorgeously flushed, and Tseng shuddered in his arms, increasing his pace. For too long he’d been worried about hurting Rufus, but as his strength finally returned, they’d been able to be a lot more strenuous in their lovemaking.

“Rufus—”

“I’m not going to break!” Rufus snapped, and Tseng hid a laugh in the crook of his neck, sliding a hand up Rufus’ thigh as he let go of his instinctive need to be careful.

This was more like it, like the time before everything in the world turned to shit, when they were carefree and young, their entire lives ahead of them. Tseng sat back on his heels, taking hold of Rufus’ legs and slamming into him, the slap of his hips against Rufus’ ass echoing through the room.

Rufus was beautiful beneath him, long pale limbs wrapped around Tseng’s body, his hair a damp mess falling across his face and the white linen beneath him, sweet gasps and moans escaping him as Tseng nailed his prostate over and over. He slipped a hand down between them and took hold of Rufus’ cock, hard and slick with precome, and Rufus let out a breathless groan as he squeezed tight around Tseng.

“I’m, I’m close, I’m—fuck, I’m so close,” Rufus gasped, reaching back and grabbing hold of the headboard, hanging on for dear life as he came. Tseng watched in awe, his heart filled to bursting with love and desire, and he leaned down to kiss Rufus, desperate wet kisses, as his hips stuttered and he came inside him.

The air was filled with soft whimpers, the smell of soap, sweat, sex, and Tseng let Rufus’ legs drop to the bed, carefully tugging the pillow out from underneath him and curling up around his exhausted body. He could feel Rufus’ heart beating rapidly beneath his hand, and he gently kissed the back of his neck.

“I have an idea,” Rufus said.

“I’m listening.”

Rufus rolled over, slinging a leg over Tseng’s hip, and took up a lock of his hair, twirling it around his fingers. “We should get that materia out again.”

“Now?” Although the materia would definitely arouse him again, Tseng wasn’t sure he wanted to go through all that right now.

“No. But—” Rufus paused, a frown on his face. He took a deep breath and looked into Tseng’s eyes, vivid blue meeting deep brown. “I know you’re worried about me. But I’m getting better.”

Tseng blinked at him, his forehead creasing up slightly. “I don’t want to smother you.” He’d noticed Rufus standing straighter, smiling more easily, but had not wanted to mention it.

Rufus sat up, propping himself on an elbow to gaze down at Tseng. Sunlight streamed through the window, giving him a halo, and Tseng smiled, admiring him, barely even noticing the prosthetic eye anymore. “My leg is getting stronger, now that I’m walking every day instead of being cooped up in an office having remote meetings with Reeve. I’m sleeping better. I’m starting to enjoy food again.” He laughed softly. “I’m going to get fat.”

Tseng rolled his eyes and slid his hand down over Rufus’ nearly concave stomach, feeling the jut of his hip bones. “I doubt it. And even if you do, it makes no difference to me.”

“The point is, I haven’t felt this good since before the Weapon attack.”

“I’m glad,” Tseng murmured. “And I am _very_ interested in using the materia again. Just give me advance warning so I can clear my schedule.”

“Oh, your busy schedule? Wouldn’t want to interrupt your morning read, or your afternoon creating chaos in the kitchen. Do tell me when you can book me in.”

Tseng grabbed Rufus, kissed his laughing mouth, and dragged him back down to the bed.

Tseng woke, gasping, tears already soaking his cheeks and the pillow beneath his head. His chest was aching, wrenched with unfathomable grief, and he turned to Rufus, shaking him and calling out his name.

“Tseng? Wha—” Rufus woke slowly, grunting, and rolled over. “Wha’s going on?”

“I—I—you’re not—” Tseng rubbed his face, tears still spilling unchecked from his eyes. He stifled a sob. “Nothing. A dream. I’m sorry I woke you.” He took several deep breaths, waiting for the dream to fade, waiting for reality to pour over him like a bucket of cold water, but in the cool dark of the room, in the silence, the dream was still too vivid and he was unable to choke back another sob.

Rufus sat up and turned the bedside light on before shifting closer to Tseng, taking his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“We were back at Healen,” Tseng managed to say as his body convulsed with another uncontrollable sob. “You—you were—” _Dead._ It had been so real; Tseng could still feel the scratchy linen from the beds at the Lodge, could smell the antiseptic and faint scent of rot that pervaded their quarters. He’d woken in the dark and had stared at the ceiling for some time, trying to get back to sleep, when he realised Rufus was soundless, unmoving, next to him. He had rolled over to shake him, and found him cold. Stiff. The breath having left his exhausted lungs some hours previously while Tseng slept peacefully next to him.

“I’m here,” Rufus said, shuffling his body across so he was pressed against Tseng from head to toe, tangling their legs together and kissing his cheek. “I’m here, it’s okay.” He pressed his hand against Tseng’s face, swiping away tears with his thumb.

“It was so real.” Tseng clutched desperately at his lover, stroking his fingers over his warm face, across his neck, down to his chest where he could feel his steadily beating heart. “I almost lost you.”

“Let’s get up,” Rufus suggested. “Come on. I think we both need some coffee.” He tried to shift back, but Tseng refused to let him go, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tightly against his body.

Tseng hadn’t had a nightmare like that for years, and it clawed at him, the pain and fear remembered so vividly. During the years at Healen, he had often spent his nights lying awake just listening to Rufus breathe, worried that his lover would slip away and he wouldn’t even realise.

Rufus pulled him closer, stroking his hair and down his back, and Tseng listened to him breathe until the tendrils of the dream finally started to fade away. He concentrated on the here and now; here, in their small home near the coast to the east of Kalm; now, years after the geostigma had passed, with nothing but the long years together stretching before them. He breathed in the scent of Rufus, of his sage and citrus soap, of the warm smell of his skin, and he calmed.

“You haven’t had that dream for years.” Rufus’ voice was hushed in the small room, the light of the lamp filling it with a warm glow. He ran a thumb down Tseng’s face, wiping away the last of his tears.

“I haven’t missed it.”

“Want to sleep more?”

It was near dawn; Tseng could hear the first of the early birdsong in the small garden outside. Rufus had turned his hand to gardening as the winter chill faded, ordering himself an entire range of implements from gardening gloves to a low stool he could perch on while getting his hands into the dirt. It was so incongruous to see him there, the man who used to all but rule the world dressed in worn slacks and an open-necked shirt, a woven hat perched on his head as he weeded and dug and planted.

The daffodils were already sprouting in the warm spring air, and the rhododendrons weren’t far behind. Rufus had planted roses as well, right below their bedroom window, once the last of the frosts had passed. Tseng, whose ability with plants could best be described as neglectful, looked forward to having a place outside surrounded by colour where he could sit in the summertime and read while Rufus puttered about in the small earthy space.

“Let’s get up,” Tseng replied, and reluctantly disentangled their limbs. Rufus stopped him, his hand on the back of Tseng’s head, his fingers warm and comforting as he pulled him in for a kiss.

They made breakfast together, clad in light robes in the style Rufus always used to favour, Tseng struggling to break physical contact with Rufus for more time than it took to take a step to the fridge. It was nothing fancy, poached eggs on toast with coffee, and Tseng was happy to see Rufus eat his entire share. For too long he’d simply pushed food around his plate, taking the smallest of nibbles before proclaiming himself full, but his appetite had improved markedly since they moved here, and Tseng was relieved to see him gaining weight again. He would always be thin, but his bones were much less prominent, his face no longer gaunt.

Tseng had been practicing his cooking skills, as promised, and although there were a fair few disasters early on, he’d finally mastered a few simple dishes which Rufus enjoyed eating. He was fond of fish, freshly caught and lightly fried, only a touch of butter and salt to flavour it, and had been talking about planting a vegetable garden to supplement the food they bought from the village markets. Perhaps some fruit as well, he mused that morning over coffee, and he winked at Tseng when he suggested they try growing pomegranates.

“And maybe when our vineyard starts producing decent grapes, we’ll make some dessert wines,” Tseng replied, enjoying the slight blush on Rufus’ cheeks.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Tseng completely distracted by thoughts of Rufus. His dream had faded completely, the fears vanishing with the sunrise, and ever since Rufus had mentioned pomegranate, Tseng could not take his mind off Rufus’ offer from a few weeks ago. He let his gaze linger on Rufus’ bare legs, the shape of his back and shoulders visible through the light fabric of the robe, and arousal began to smoulder deep within him.

“Did you have any plans for today?” He put the last of the breakfast dishes in the rack to dry and cast a coy look at Rufus, who grinned.

“Oh, so you’ve been thinking about that too?”

Tseng deliberately dragged his gaze down Rufus’ body and, wiping his hands dry, stepped close to him and tugged the tie of his robe free, parting the sides to reveal Rufus’ naked form. Rufus chuckled softly and shrugged the robe off, letting it fall to the floor as Tseng watched, entranced. He could see Rufus’ chest rising and falling as his breathing quickened, and felt his own pulse stutter when Rufus reached up and pushed Tseng’s robe over his shoulders and down to join Rufus’ on the floor.

For a moment they stood in silence, both breathing heavily, unable to tear their gazes from one another. It would have seemed strange to stand naked in the kitchen, birds chirping outside and the sun streaming in through the expansive windows, but there was no one for miles around. Tseng had been fantasising about fucking Rufus in the garden, wanting to see him sprawled on the grass, sunlight gleaming off his pale body, smiling up at Tseng, and he looked forward to the warmth of summer when he could make his dream a reality.

“Well?” Rufus said breathlessly. They hadn’t touched yet, not even kissed, and arousal was already pulsing through Tseng’s body as he gazed at his lover, his long straight limbs, his narrow hips, his cock swelling between his legs as he gave Tseng the same treatment.

Tseng trailed his hand lightly over Rufus’ chest, enjoying the warm skin under his fingertips. “What did you have in mind?”

Rufus smiled.

They had learned, over time, not to simply jump into bed and cast the spell. Tseng filled a pitcher with cold water and brought it over to the coffee table with a couple of glasses, and Rufus fetched towels from the linen closet for cleanup. The materia was stored in a silver engraved box, kept hidden away in the back of their wardrobe, and Tseng’s breath caught in his throat when he opened it up and felt that same warmth start to flow through him.

“What level?”

Rufus’ smile was wicked. “Master,” he purred, and Tseng felt a jolt of arousal tinged with fear.

“Are you sure?”

“Cast the spell.” Rufus pushed Tseng onto the rug and straddled him, and Tseng couldn’t hold back a smile. Only months ago, Rufus limped with every step and struggled to bend his leg, and now he was kneeling over Tseng’s body, no hint of pain or discomfort.

“What the hell,” Tseng agreed, and cast the spell.

It had been a long time since they had experienced the fully mastered materia. Not since the time before Tseng's severe injuries at the blade of Sephiroth, before the Weapon attack on Midgar. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to have that velvet lavender haze descend upon him, heat enveloping him and spreading from his core all the way through to the ends of his fingertips and toes.

The taste of sweet wine burst in his mouth, and he leaned in to kiss Rufus, chasing that rich, sharp pomegranate flavour. Rufus moaned, opening his mouth against Tseng’s, the intense flavours combining, the scent of honey and spice in the air as arousal quickly threatened to overcome him.

His cock stiffened up so rapidly it almost hurt, and Tseng groaned, pushing Rufus down onto his back and straddling his chest. He was already on the verge of orgasm, sweat beading at his temples, the heat rushing through his body making his limbs tremble.

“I want to come on you.” His breathing stuttered, the words almost swallowed up by his desperation, and Rufus nodded, his face flushed red and his eyes dark with desire.

“On—on my face,” he gasped, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. Tseng let out a desperate whine, taking hold of his cock and giving it a firm stroke. That was all it took; his balls tightened and he came in helpless spurts, streaking across Rufus’ chest and face. Rufus whimpered, his mouth half open as he caught some in his mouth, and his body convulsed, moments before Tseng felt the warmth of his come decorating his back and ass.

“Filthy,” Tseng murmured, swiping his thumb over Rufus’ eyelid, wiping away his release. He leaned down to kiss him, tasting himself, and Rufus moaned and grabbed his head, plunging his tongue into Tseng’s mouth. Already they were both hardening up again, and Tseng shuffled back, pushing Rufus’ legs up and apart.

“You want—”

“ _Yes,”_ Rufus interrupted, grabbing the lube they’d put within easy reach. Tseng frantically squeezed some into his hand, spending precious moments sliding his fingers into Rufus before pressing his cock inside him with a groan. He only managed two thrusts, heated desire flooding his body as he spilled himself inside Rufus. Rufus followed almost immediately, barely even touching his cock before he came all over his chest, his release mingling with Tseng’s.

“Don’t—don’t move,” Rufus gasped, wrapping his legs around Tseng’s waist and refusing to let him pull out. “Just give it a moment.”

They paused, eyes locked, both of them panting and gasping for breath. Rufus cracked a smile, let out a short laugh, and an uncharacteristic giggle burst out of Tseng’s mouth before he could stop it.

The arousal built between them again, and Tseng groaned through his laughter as his cock swelled inside Rufus once more, Rufus’ ass clenching around him spasmodically as he laughed uncontrollably. Their bodies shook with mirth and lust alike, and Rufus arched his back, stroking himself languidly as Tseng thrust his hips.

“Oh, gods, right there,” Rufus moaned, the laughter breaking off as he lifted his hips to get the angle right. Tseng sat back on his heels, holding Rufus’ ankles as he gazed down at his lover, his entire torso and face flushed and streaked with come. It was filthy, and Tseng bit his lip, his rhythm stuttering as he fucked Rufus breathless.

“I’m—I’m almost there.” Tseng increased his pace, his body starting to tighten up again as he approached orgasm, but just as he was about to come again, Rufus let out a loud yelp.

“Ah! Fuck! Stop!” His legs spasmed and Tseng reeled back, slipping free as he caught one of Rufus’ heels in his chin.

“Ow!” Tseng couldn’t stop the approaching orgasm; he moaned as his body twitched, his jaw screaming in pain as he came helplessly across Rufus’ ass. The dichotomy of sensations threw him and he fell backwards in a daze.

“I’m so sorry,” Rufus gasped. “My leg cramped, I couldn’t help it.” He shifted to his knees and crawled over to Tseng, his cock still hard and straining. Tseng had to laugh; the impact of Rufus’ heel had only been a glancing blow, enough to surprise him and probably bruise him a little, but nothing more catastrophic. He sat up, cradling Rufus’ worried face, and kissed him breathless. Rufus moaned and pulled Tseng back down on top of him without breaking the kiss, grabbing handfuls of his hair and tugging gently.

“You should have grown your beard out years ago.” Rufus nuzzled Tseng’s face, rubbing his smooth cheek against the short beard Tseng had finally managed to cultivate. It was still a little patchy in places and had more white streaks than his hair, but Rufus loved the feel of it scratching his face, his neck, his inner thighs. Tseng smiled as Rufus gently nudged him down, and he gladly slid down Rufus’ body to take his cock into his mouth.

Rufus moaned, clutching at Tseng’s hair, scratching his scalp as he thrust up into his mouth. It only took a few strokes, Rufus already close from Tseng fucking him, before heat flooded Tseng’s mouth as Rufus let out a choked cry.

“Gods, I’m already exhausted,” Rufus said with a wry laugh, sitting up and pouring them both a glass of water. Tseng nodded agreement; although the materia was still driving him, that burning arousal deep in his core continuing to radiate outwards, he had to admit that after three rounds in quick succession, all he wanted to do was nap.

One look at Rufus, however, changed his mind. His lover was flushed, a wide smile on his face and sweat beading at his temples, and once they’d drunk their fill, Tseng grabbed him and kissed him again, chasing that sharp pomegranate taste.

“Again?”

Rufus nodded and pushed Tseng down onto his back, crawling across his body to kiss him. Even after thirty years together, Tseng never tired of kissing Rufus, of the slick slide of tongue and lips, the small noises Rufus made, the way he angled his head just right. He still remembered their first kiss, when they were barely eighteen, both fumbling and desperate in a dark corner of the Shinra building after weeks of shy small talk and longing eye contact. Neither of them had really known what they were doing, and it was clumsy, awkward, a little strange. But they’d met up time and time again, each time better than the last, until Rufus dragged Tseng back to his apartment and they fell in a tangle of limbs onto the settee.

“Oh!” Rufus gasped as he slid down onto Tseng’s cock again. Tseng grabbed his hips, thrusting up into that pliant heat, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he would last. Lethargy was gripping his limbs, his head was swimming, and he noticed that Rufus was not riding him as enthusiastically as he normally would. The materia was keeping him hard, keeping him aroused, but his body refused to cooperate.

Tseng let his head fall back to the rug as Rufus collapsed down on top of him, his head resting in the crook of Tseng’s neck, and within moments, they were both fast asleep.

Tseng awoke with a snort, his neck aching and a heavy weight across his chest. It took him a moment to get his bearings: he was on the rug in front of the fireplace, with Rufus sprawled on top of him, fast asleep. He realised almost immediately that his cock was still nestled deep in Rufus’ ass, and he grunted.

The sound was enough to wake Rufus, who groaned into Tseng’s neck. “Ah, fuck,” he muttered, shifting atop him as Tseng bit his lip.

“Rufus,” Tseng gasped, clutching at his hips. His cock, despite everything, was stiffening up inside Rufus’ ass, and Rufus let out a surprised noise.

“Hmm.” Rufus sat back, clenching around Tseng’s cock, a thoughtful look on his face.

“I don’t know if I can.” Tseng took a deep breath, groaning softly despite himself.

“Me neither. I’m too old for this shit. I need a shower, and a nap, and not necessarily in that order.” Rufus looked disappointed as he slid free of Tseng and rolled off him, curling into his side on the plush rug.

They both lay in silence for a moment before Tseng caught Rufus’ eye and they burst out laughing.

“Barkstar,” Reno said, and everyone groaned. Rude hid a laugh with a gloved hand, turning away slightly as his shoulders shook with mirth.

“I’m _not_ calling her Barkstar.” Rufus glared at him, his arms crossed.

“I hate to agree with Reno, but I like Barkstar,” Elena said from where she was crouched on the grass, a hand held out for the puppy to sniff.

“Not Barkstar! We will come up with a much more regal name for her.” Rufus tapped his cane against the leg of his chair, catching the puppy’s attention, and she bounded over to him, putting her stumpy legs up on his knee. He laughed, scratching her ears, and Tseng’s heart melted a little. Much as they loved the cats—six of them, including the mother, and Tseng often found them all curled up together on Rufus’ chair—Rufus had been wanting a dog for years. One of the shopkeepers in the village mentioned a forthcoming litter, and Rufus’ eyes had lit up. This little one had only just been weaned and brought home, and although several days had passed, they hadn’t been able to settle on a name.

“Back me up, Tseng,” Rufus snapped.

“Not Barkstar,” Tseng agreed.

The name stuck, and as summer wore on and the grapes grew heavy on the vine, Rufus started taking longer walks through the vineyard. His leg had improved to the point where he rarely needed his cane anymore, and Tseng’s heart soared to see him striding through the vines with all the vigour of a man fifteen years younger. Tseng often accompanied him, Barkstar trotting at Rufus’ heels, occasionally darting off to chase a small bird or rodent, the sun beating down upon them.

Oftentimes they returned to their cottage with fingers and lips intertwined, and Tseng realised his dream of taking Rufus under the warmth of the summer sun, his pale limbs sprawled out in the grass. Afterwards they lay together under the sun umbrella, shamelessly naked in their private space, the smell of grass and roses surrounding them.

News of the outside world occasionally reached them, news of battles being fought over scraps of land, of scandals and intrigues from the upper echelons of society, of food shortages and floods in the far flung corners of the world. Rufus struggled with it sometimes, with not being the centre of things anymore, of being powerless to prevent injustice and disaster, and Tseng often caught him typing up a furious email to Reeve and the heads of the WRO before sighing and deleting it.

“It’s frustrating.”

“Of course it is.”

“I could help, you know. I know I could.”

Tseng lowered his book and looked up at Rufus, pacing back and forth in the small study with a newspaper clutched in his hands, a frown on his face. “Could you, though? You know Reeve will be doing all the things you would, and you spent the past fifteen years working with the entire board. What would you do that they aren’t already doing?”

“I—I feel useless,” Rufus burst out, throwing the rolled up newspaper to the floor. Barkstar perked up from her bed in the corner and trotted over, picking up the newspaper in her mouth and looking expectantly up at Rufus. Rufus sighed, patting her on the head and taking the paper. He flopped on the couch next to Tseng, displacing one of the cats, who gave him a reproachful look before climbing onto his lap and digging her paws into Rufus’ abdomen. He winced, and Tseng smiled.

“No one ever said retirement was easy,” Tseng murmured. “I still find myself on the verge of calling Elena every other day to ask if she’s doing something the way I would. But I know she’s got everything under control. You need to have the same faith in Reeve.”

“He’s not getting any younger himself,” Rufus fretted. “He’s in his late fifties now, he should be thinking about retirement too.”

Tseng put his book aside and placed his reading glasses on top of it. “He’ll retire when he’s ready. Besides, he hasn’t been through _quite_ as much as you have.”

Rufus shifted closer, putting his feet up and leaning against Tseng’s shoulder. Tseng put an arm around him, combing his fingers through his hair as Rufus sighed. “It’s hard to let go.”

“I know.”

“I’m doing no one any good here.”

Tseng’s chest tightened. “You’re doing yourself a world of good,” he said, his voice hushed. “Six months ago, you were looking at the prospect of a wheelchair in the not so distant future. Now you barely use your cane.”

“I know, but—”

“I can’t see your ribs anymore,” Tseng continued. “And your shoulders aren’t nearly as sharp.” He leaned his face against Rufus’ head, breathing in the scent of his shampoo. “Allow me to be happy that you are no longer dying before my very eyes.”

Rufus was silent for several long minutes, his hand clenched tightly in Tseng’s shirt. Tseng breathed slowly, deeply, fighting back the tears that formed in the corners of his eyes at the memory of the past few years, watching Rufus visibly deteriorate as time marched on. It had been like when he had geostigma all over again, albeit slower.

“I’m sorry.” Rufus’ hand strayed up to cup Tseng’s cheek, stroking lightly over his short beard. Tseng leaned into the touch, kissing Rufus’ palm. “I haven’t made your life easy, have I?”

Tseng snorted. “You could say that. You know, I had any number of offers from handsome young men and women during my early twenties. You’re lucky you’ve got a nice ass.”

“Hmph.” Rufus patted Tseng’s cheek lightly and sat up, stretching briefly before standing and making his way over to the piano. He’d been practicing more lately, the music a distraction from his anxieties and guilt over their idyllic life. Tseng smiled, closing his eyes as the notes of the piece Rufus had been working on washed over him. It was incredibly domestic, sitting comfortably in a sun-drenched room, a tumbler of bourbon on the table in front of him, a good book in his hands, and his lover picking out strains of music across the room, and Tseng wondered how he’d ever thought retirement wasn’t for him.

Eighteen years, it had been, since the day their lives all changed. Eighteen years since the looming Meteor finally fell upon Midgar, destroying the city and the lives of so many people. Tseng had always felt that the celebration they held every year was more like a funeral, reminding them of what had been lost.

Rufus insisted, particularly once his stigma was cured, and every year Tseng was forced to endure celebratory drinks with Rufus and his Turks and whoever else Rufus could find to invite, when all Tseng wanted to do was sulk in his room in private.

“If it wasn’t for Meteorfall, I may well be dead by now,” Rufus pointed out, that first year they celebrated. _Mourned_. “Overwork. A heart attack. Who knows? And you could have fallen in the line of duty.” He wrapped his arms around Tseng’s waist, kissing the back of his neck through the fall of his hair, and Tseng sighed.

“I will _pretend_ to enjoy myself.” He turned in Rufus’ grasp, sliding his hand around the base of Rufus’ skull and pulling him in for a kiss. “But only for you. I despise these _celebrations.”_

He watched as the date approached again, trepidation building in his stomach. It was almost a year since they’d moved into the small house, and he couldn’t believe how much things had changed since they first wandered its narrow halls, coughing out dust and wondering if it could ever become a home.

“We need to celebrate,” Rufus informed Tseng, just after the new year. Snow lay thick on the ground from an unprecedented storm that had lasted almost a week, and they spent their days in the cosy warmth of the cottage, blankets piled high on the bed and the fireplace almost always alight.

Tseng sighed. “It’s been eighteen years. I think it’s time we stopped.”

“Not that.” Rufus rolled over and slung his leg across Tseng’s thighs, his hand finding Tseng’s and tangling their fingers together. “I have a better reason to celebrate. A year since we moved here.”

“Huh.”

“Did you think I’d forgotten the date?”

“Just tell me you’re not planning on one of your big parties.”

“No.” Rufus shifted closer, and Tseng ran a hand down his leg. A year here had changed Rufus so much he was almost unrecognisable from the gaunt, frail man who had struggled to walk even with a cane. His muscles had been restored, his skin had regained its healthy glow, and his outlook on life had greatly improved. Tseng knew he’d improved a fair bit himself, allowing himself to relax and enjoy the small things in life now that he didn’t have to worry about Rufus all the time.

“No?”

“A small party. We can order food from the village. Just enough for six of us.”

Tseng smiled. “Rude, Reno, Elena, and Reeve?” That sounded like much more his kind of thing.

“Just our friends.”

“Perhaps we can foist some of our terrible wine onto them.” They had casks of the stuff, from the first harvest of the grapes in the newly resorted vineyard, and while it was drinkable, it definitely wasn’t up to the standard of the wine they were used to.

Rufus chuckled, then fell silent, his hand tracing patterns on Tseng’s chest. “I’m thankful, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t want to retire. I thought my life wouldn’t have meaning if I wasn’t working. If I wasn’t still trying to fix the damage Shinra wrought on the planet.”

Tseng was silent, shifting his hand to run his fingers through Rufus’ hair. He still had a full head of hair, but it was almost completely silver now, the strands of blonde all but invisible.

“I would probably be dead by now if I hadn’t left it behind,” Rufus admitted, his voice hushed in the silence of the early morning light. “And I find that I am quite happy to be alive.”

Tseng turned, pressing their foreheads together, his mouth barely an inch from Rufus’. No words were necessary as their mouths met, and it was a long while before they spoke again.

_With each year our colour fades_

_Slowly, our paint chips away_

_But we will find the strength_

_And the nerve it takes_

_To repaint, and repaint, and repaint every day._

_Let the years we’re here be kind, be kind_

_Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide_

_Settle our bones like wood over time, over time_

_Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine_

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: sherribon
> 
> [Sleeping At Last: North](https://open.spotify.com/track/7HQCXYyaBmhugyRDvy4V7m?si=4Eh3YmZRQVOgvULvHbp7aQ)


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